


axe murderers aren't the worst people

by ivyalexandrias



Series: togetherness [2]
Category: MLAndersen0, Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, This Is STUPID, U CANT STOP ME, best friends!!!, eleven has no sense of self preservation lmao, hopper is tired, idk i'm just. love these two., pat and el WILL make an appearance in togetherness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24684424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyalexandrias/pseuds/ivyalexandrias
Summary: Eleven stands at the edge of the woods, arms folded behind her.The boy with the axe stands just inside the trees, watching her curiously. He doesn’t seem like he’s going to attack her.
Relationships: Eleven | Jane Hopper & Jim "Chief" Hopper, Eleven | Jane Hopper & Michael Andersen, Eleven | Jane Hopper & Patrick (MLAndersen0)
Series: togetherness [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1784557
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	axe murderers aren't the worst people

**Author's Note:**

> this is in the same 'verse as "togetherness" btw

Eleven stands at the edge of the woods, arms folded behind her. The boy with the axe stands just inside the trees, watching her curiously. He doesn’t seem like he’s going to attack her. She takes a step forward, and he steps back, so she pauses. 

“Who… are you?” She asks after a moment, voice soft.

“I… I don’t know,” Comes the hesitant reply, and his voice is smaller than she expected. Maybe he’s just tall, but she thought he was in his 20’s, but he sounds more like he’s 17. “I think my name is Michael. Or Patrick. Maybe both?” She studies him for a moment, before stepping forward again, spreading her hands in a placating movement, the same way Mike does when he’s approaching her during one of her ‘panic attacks’. This time, Michael-or-Patrick doesn’t step back, and she takes that as a cue to keep going. 

As she gets closer, Eleven notes the blood, both on the axe, and on his face. Just in case, she threads a tendril of power around the axe, keeping it in place. Michael-or-Patrick doesn’t look like he’s on the offensive though. Eventually, she’s standing right in front of him. She glances to the side, and notices he’s released the axe. With a nod, it goes flying, embedding itself in a log nearby with a soft thunk! Michael-or-Patrick’s head spins to look at it, and he looks startled, but not afraid. He turns back to look at her, and with a soft breath, he sinks to his knees. Eleven follows suit, sitting cross legged on the forest floor across from him. 

Michael-or-Patrick is silent for a minute, so she takes the lead. “Do you know where that blood came from?” She asks gently, and he seems to think for a moment. “I think… I think it was a rabbit. Or-or a deer. Not a person though. It wasn’t a person.” She nods, worrying at her bottom lip slightly. 

“Alright, um. Do you have a home? Do you know where it is?” Michael-or-Patrick shakes his head quickly. “No, no home. I don’t wanna go home, it’s not safe there. Patrick helped me leave, I’m not going back.” She nods quickly. “Okay, no going home. Patrick… is he your friend? Because, I thought you said your name was Patrick.”

Michael-or-Patrick apparently has to think about that for a minute, but he eventually speaks. “Sometimes. Sometimes I’m Patrick. I’m Michael right now, though. I can hear him, so I’m not him. I’m Michael.” He nods, as if affirming the fact to himself. Eleven studies him for a moment, but before she can say anything else, it registers to her that it’s cold, and Michael’s wearing a shirt that’s wet with blood, and water, so he must be cold. 

She stands, offering him a hand. He watches her cautiously. She sighs. “It’s cold. Come inside. Hop says you get sick if you’re cold and wet at the same time.” He takes her hand after a moment, and she leads him out of the trees. She steps over the tripwire, and he follows suit. She opens the door to the cabin, leading him inside, and pulling him over to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair with a tendril of power.

“Sit. I’ll be back.” He sits. Eleven pads into the bathroom, grabbing washcloths, and a bottle of disinfectant. She walks back into the kitchen, setting them down on the table. When she looks back over at Michael, he has a small smile on his face, and his eyes have a reddish hue. 

“You know, inviting strange, blood covered men into your house at night isn’t generally viewed as the smartest choice.” He says, and his voice has changed. She shrugs, wetting a washcloth in the sink, and walking over, handing it to him. 

“I can defend myself. Get the blood off, so I can see where you’re most hurt.” He studies her for a moment, before shrugging. He wipes the blood from his face, and arms. When he’s done, she can see that his face is okay, but his arms are covered in scratches and bruises. Some are long and deep, curving across the inside of his wrists. Will has similar cuts, sometimes. She grabs another cloth, pouring the antiseptic on it, and pressing it against the worst of the wounds. He sucks in a sharp breath, clenching his jaw, but doesn’t react otherwise. She looks up at him, and his eyes are still the same reddish hazel.

“You are Patrick?” She asks, and he raises an eyebrow. “Smart girl.” She nods, returning to tending to his wounds. 

The door to Hopper’s room creaks open, and she freezes. She hears Hop sigh heavily. 

“El, do I even want to know?” She hesitates for a moment, before speaking. “He was hurt.” Hop sighs again, walking over. 

“What happened to you, son? That your blood?” Patrick shakes his head.

“No sir. Well- partially. I think most of it is from the deer.”

“You killed a deer, son?”

“Probably.” Hopper sighs, looking exasperated.

“How do you not know if you’ve killed a deer or not?” Patrick hums in response, thinking.

“It’s complicated, sir. It’s hard to remember much over the static, so you’ll have to excuse me for the gaps in my memory.” Patrick cuts himself off at the end, sucking in a breath as Eleven wraps bandages around his arm. She steps back.

“Done.”

“Thank you, dear.” He stands, and goes to step towards the door, but Hopper catches him by the shoulder. 

“I hate to break it to you son, but I’m going to have to ask you some questions. I can’t exactly let some blood covered kid run free, I am the sheriff.”

Patrick nods. “Of course sir. There’s just something I have to take care of, first. Unless you want, ah- tall, dark, and ugly outside all night.” Hopper frowns, looking out the window, and does a double take. There’s a tall man standing outside. He has a suit on, and a tie. The weird thing about him, though, Eleven notes, is that he has no face. It’s just a blank white space where his facial features should be.

Patrick sidesteps Hopper, stepping outside. He raises a hand in greeting, and the creature cocks it’s head at him. Something not unlike a tendril snaps out, wrapping around his arm, and then they’re both gone. Eleven watches the darkness for a moment, casting a net of her consciousness around them, but all she can feel is a faint, buzzing static. 

Eleven shrugs, and goes to bed, tossing the dirtied washcloths in the hamper in the bathroom with a flick of her hand. Hopper stands in the kitchen for a few more minutes, then Eleven hears him sigh to himself, following suit. 

Eleven doesn’t see Patrick-or-Michael again, but the next day, his axe is gone, and there’s a note sitting where it was.

Thanks for the help. He won’t bother you, don’t worry. :)  
\- P

She shrugs, and picks the note up, tucking it in her pocket, and goes about her day. 

She’s seen stranger things.


End file.
